


Hunter's Bargain

by shadowmaat



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, accidental family acquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 02:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21330766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowmaat/pseuds/shadowmaat
Summary: Jango knew better than to work with the hutts, but he took the job anyway. When the deal goes south, he'll have to rely on a tough, desperate mother if he wants to get out of it alive.
Relationships: Jango Fett/Shmi Skywalker
Comments: 32
Kudos: 320
Collections: Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2019





	Hunter's Bargain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flubi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flubi/gifts).

> This one really got away from me. It seems I've acquired a new ship for my collection.

“I hope you enjoy your payment, bounty hunter!”

Gardulla the Hutt’s laughter filled the audience chamber as Jango stumbled back, muscles already constricting from the neurotoxin in the dart. The dart that had _ somehow _ found a weak spot in his armor. How had this happened? He’d been so careful. He was _ always _ careful! His reputation depended on it. 

He tried to lift his arm so he could fire his flamethrower at the leering hutt and her entourage, but his body wasn’t cooperating. A groan was dragged from his throat as his diaphragm spasmed. He fumbled for the pouch on his belt where he kept a supply of typical antitoxins, but his fingers were clumsy, the gloves only making it worse. His vision blurred and focused again. The predators and other low-lifes surrounding Gardulla’s throne were moving in, sensing that he was now an easy target.

Out. He had to get out. Trying to picture the map of the palace in his head he lurched toward the shadows. Lines of fire ignited along his nerves; it was getting harder to maintain control of his own body. The whispers of the thugs grew closer, openly plotting what they were going to do with him and arguing over who got what loot.

_ Over my dead body,_ he thought, trying to ignore how likely that was to become a reality. Not now. Not here. There was still so much left to do, so many bounties to collect! He wasn’t going to be taken out by a damn double-dealing hutt!

He paused, swaying as he tried to drag air into his tortured lungs. Drawing on the last of his reserves, he broke into a lurching run. There were shouts behind him as his pursuers realized he was escaping, and another taunt from Gardulla as he found his way into one of the service tunnels. 

His heart clenched and stuttered as the world faded to a gray haze of agony. Strong arms caught him as his legs gave out. He struggled, trying to reach for a blaster that seemed too far away.

“Stop fighting, you stupid man!” A voice hissed in his ear. 

“I-” His jaw almost snapped down on his tongue as a seizure rocked him. He heard his assailant swearing in a mix of languages and then everything went black.

Time passed. He didn’t know how much. He opened his eyes. It took a minute to focus and another few to identify what he was seeing. A rough, claylike ceiling. Pale light slanting across it from, what, a window? His head throbbed. Every inch of him felt bruised. He hadn’t gone on a bender since… no. Gardulla. Poisoning.

Jango struggled to sit up, but his body refused to respond. His _ exposed _ body; someone had removed his armor. Dragging air into his lungs, intending to cuss out whoever his captor was, only caused him to start coughing. Fresh waves of agony rippled through him.

“You’re awake?”

There was movement off to his side and then someone was helping him sit up, pressing a clay cup to his lips. He could have refused, but if someone wanted him dead then he wouldn’t be here now. He managed to stop coughing long enough to swallow down some of the liquid in the cup and immediately regretted it.

“I know,” said the voice from before, sounding sympathetic. “It tastes vile, but it’s helping to push the venom from your system. You don’t last long on Tatooine without learning how to counteract Krayt dragon venom.”

He raised a shaking hand, managing to latch onto the wrist holding the cup as he fought to focus again. His captor was a human woman. Long brown hair. A weathered, weary face. Dark eyes.

“Wh-what-” He swallowed, trying again. “What do you want?” 

A high, querulous sound came from nearby. The woman looked towards it, grimacing.

“Your interrogation will have to wait, sir,” she said. “It seems you aren’t the only one who wants some lunch.”

She lowered him back onto the lumpy mattress he now realized he was on and placed the cup on the floor beside him before rising to go to the- to the crib. A baby was crying.

The pieces weren’t adding up to any scenario Jango could imagine. He closed his eyes in order to concentrate on what he could remember, but must have fallen asleep again. When he awoke the lighting was dimmer and he could hear singing. The voice was soft and a little unsteady, but he recognized the tune as one of the learning programs from an edutainment holoseries that had been popular when he was young. 

He managed to get his elbows under him and with a bit of effort and a lot of smothered cussing, he was able to sit up. His stomach threatened rebellion and his head spun and pounded, but he was upright under his own power and able to take stock of his surroundings.

There was only the one mattress in the room, but a messy pile of threadbare blankets nearby looked as if someone might have been sleeping there. The crib was well worn but sturdy and Jango had a feeling it was currently unoccupied. A battered chest and a rocking chair were the only other pieces of furniture in the room. No glass in the window, but netting stretched across it was probably meant to keep the insects at bay. The singing was coming from another room, so if he wanted to escape, now was the time. Jango wasn’t sure he trusted his luck enough to try getting back on his feet.

His captor had dressed him in a rough, slightly stained shirt and a pair of pants that seemed a little too long for him. His armor, of course, was nowhere to be seen. No comm nearby, no datapad, nothing. Hell with it. Shifting around and ignoring the way his head pounded, Jango pushed himself into a crouch and tried to stand.

It worked. For a minute. Then his legs gave out and he collapsed back onto the mattress with a thump, swearing at the new flares of pain it awakened.

The singing stopped, and a moment later the brown-haired woman appeared in the doorway, an infant suckling at her breast. Her expression was flat as she took in the scene and Jango tried to get himself upright again.

“I thought I got to you before the venom damaged your brain, but maybe I was wrong.” She shook her head and Jango could feel heat crawling into his face.

“Who are you?” He demanded. “What do you want from me?”

“I’m beginning to reevaluate that,” she said, coming fully into the room. “My name is Shmi Skywalker. You are a Mandalorian, right? Or did you steal that armor from someone?”

Fury burned hotter than his embarrassment. He lifted his chin, glaring up at her. “I’m Jango Fett. I _ was _ the Mando’ade of the True Mandalorians, before we were betrayed. Where’s my armor?”

The baby in Shmi’s arm spat out the nipple and started to complain. Never taking her eyes off Jango, she shifted the baby to her shoulder, patting and rubbing his back.

“It’s hidden in the crawlspace where the underlords won’t find it,” she said.

Some of Jango’s anger evaporated. “Underlords. You’re a slave?”

For a moment he could feel the whip marks across his own back. It hadn’t been that long since he’d been a slave, himself; another link in a chain of betrayals, ambushes, and backstabbing. He’d fought his way out and it wasn’t an experience he ever cared to repeat. It wasn’t one he liked to see inflicted on others, either.

Shmi pulled the chair over and sat before him, setting the baby in her lap and tugging her top back into place.

“My son and I are both slaves,” she said.

The baby burbled at him, waving a chubby fist. Jango stayed silent, waiting to see where this conversation was going before he spoke up.

“I’m… I’ve adapted to my life,” Shmi said, “but I want something better for Anakin.”

This was definitely not heading in a direction he liked. “If you think I’m going to-”

“I want you to take my son.” Her expression was hard, but her voice shook and tears rolled down her cheeks. “Take him away from this world so he can have a chance at a real life.”

_ Unlike me, _ was left unspoken, but Jango heard it loud and clear. He frowned. 

“Do you know who I am, Miss Skywalker? Do you know _ what _ I am?”

She lifted her chin, eyes still shimmering. “You’re Jango Fett, an up-and-coming bounty hunter with a reputation for getting the job done. _ Any _ job,” she added, making him wonder what she’d heard. “You’re also known as someone who tries to minimize casualties and who has a particular hatred for slavers.”

She’d done her homework. Or more likely Gardulla had, and she’d somehow gained access to that information. He shrugged.

“And knowing that, you’d _ still _ give me your kid?” It was ludicrous, for more reasons than one.

“What choice do I have?”

The baby, Anakin, paused in the act of chewing on his hand and looked up at his mother, whimpering. Shmi hushed him and began to rock.

“Besides,” she said, looking Jango squarely in the eyes. “I saw you handing out food to the kids. There’s more to you than just your reputation.”

_ Shit. _ He schooled his expression into blankness. It had been an impulse, that was all; something to get the younglings to leave him alone. Nothing more than that. He thought he’d made sure no one had seen him, but apparently someone had.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he said. “I’m still not a good person, and my life isn’t exactly a safe one.” He gestured at himself. “Obviously. Look, I appreciate the help you’ve given me and the risks you’ve taken, but I’m not taking your baby.”

“They’re implanting the tracker next week,” she said. “After that it will be too late!”

The nausea that roiled through his stomach had nothing to do with the poisoning. He looked at the baby, who seemed to sense the attention and looked back at him, blue eyes wide and curious. No. Hell, no. He shook his head.

“I’m sorry. I know how terrible it must be for you, but I can’t be a father. I’ve got my whole life ahead of me and-”

_ “So does Ani!” _ Shmi’s dark eyes blazed at him. “But not if he’s trapped here as a slave!”

The planes of her face hardened with her conviction even as the dimming light lent her an almost ethereal presence. Jango shook his head again, trying to rid himself of the image.

She sighed. “I should also warn you that with the concentration that was in that dart, it will take multiple doses to make sure you fully recover your strength.” The chair rocked forward and back. “You still have a few doses left, but if you’d rather leave now, I can help drag you outside.”

He felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. She had to be bluffing, but there was no way to tell from the way she was looking at him, and the weakness in his legs hadn’t been his imagination.

She stood, seeming to loom over him. “I’ll let you think about it.”

She turned and walked away, the knobs of her spine showing against the taut material of her top. _ Pure beskar, _ he thought, watching her leave. It took a lot of nerve for anyone to stand up to him, let alone a slave woman whose life depended on being submissive. But then, some parents would go to extremes for their children. She’d have made a wonderful Mando.

He could almost picture her in armor. Scarlet for defiance. Maybe brown for valor. Or- no. He clamped down on those thoughts, annoyed at himself. Now was not the time to admire an enemy.

Anakin let out a happy squeal as there was a knock at the door. Jango tensed; she wouldn’t have reported him already, would she? What if they were doing a house-by-house search to find him? He strained to hear the murmured conversation in the next room, but to no avail. Before long, the door closed again and all he could hear was happy burbling from Anakin.

Taking care, he pushed himself back against the wall to wait. He didn’t know what he was going to tell Shmi when she came back. He was only 25! There was no way he was ready for that kind of responsibility! How did she expect him to be a bounty hunter and a father? He wondered, idly, if he could get away with taking the kid and dumping him in the first orphanage he found, but that thought proved to be… uncomfortable. He’d heard too many stories of unscrupulous people adopting kids for the money and never caring for their charges. Or orphanages that were fronts for sweatshops and worse. What would be the point of taking Anakin away from one life of slavery only to risk dumping him into another? And why wasn’t Shmi insisting she go with him?

His thoughts were interrupted by someone appearing in the doorway. Not Shmi, but a blue-skinned twi’lek woman whose expression hardened when she saw him. She settled Anakin against her hip and gave him an appraising look.

“So you’re Shmi’s man.” Her lekku twitched in obvious derision. “Come back to knock her up again before you slither off in the night like the drunken womp rat you are?”

Jango blinked. Was that the story Shmi was telling? But then, he supposed, how else would she explain the sudden appearance of a strange man in their midst?

“I’m not here to cause trouble, miss,” he said, his voice still sounding rough.

The twi’lek scoffed. “Oh, you’ve caused plenty of trouble, already! Shmi will probably be punished for being late today, thanks to you!”

Jango winced, his back itching. That wasn’t what he wanted. All he wanted was to get out of here and leave Tatooine in the dust. Maybe he could escape, grab his armor, and make his way back to his ship. That should draw attention away from the slave quarters, and his ship should be able to handle anything Gardulla could throw at it.

Anakin was pushing away from the twi’lek, one small hand reaching towards Jango. The woman’s look turned calculating.

“Here.” She entered the room and thrust Anakin at him. “You watch him for a while. I’ve been told to make sure you eat.”

“What?” Jango froze as the baby settled into his arms, crowing with delight. “Wait-”

“A big, strong man like you can last against an infant for five minutes,” the woman said, walking away. “And since you didn’t ask, my name is Nima.”

He _ would _ have asked, if he’d been given time! He frowned down at Anakin, grateful that he’d at least been around babies long enough to know how to hold him properly. Anakin stared back up at him, his blue eyes wide and mouth gaping in a grin that revealed two teeth pushing their way through his gums.

“Yaya.” Anakin reached up and grabbed Jango’s nose.

“Hello to you to, I guess,” Jango said. He managed to rescue his nose before Anakin tried to pull too hard. The _ ik’aad _ couldn’t be more than a year old, and had a voracious curiosity, exploring every inch of his face before letting out a contented sigh and thudding his head against Jango’s shoulder. Bright blue eyes slanted closed, but one hand maintained a deathgrip on the collar of Jango’s shirt.

Nima appeared not long after Anakin fell asleep, the hard line of her mouth softening as she saw them.

“He actually likes you. Amazing.” 

She held a bowl in one hand and Jango’s stomach cramped as he caught a whiff of broth.

“He’s usually a good judge of character, for a baby,” Nima said, setting the bowl aside and bending down to retrieve the sleeping Anakin.

For a heartbeat, Jango’s hold tightened, and then he released Anakin back into the care of his- nanny?- and accepted the bowl of broth. It was more water than soup, but it helped to settle his stomach and took the edge off the headache he hadn’t realized was starting. 

  
  


The day passed more peacefully after that. Nima interrogated him about his life, his choices, and his relationship with Shmi, and he did his best to deflect or come up with innocuous answers.

In turn, he learned that Nima was a third-generation slave who worked most nights in Gardulla’s Palace cleaning and “polishing the weapons of anyone who asked.” She then made sure he knew exactly what she meant by that, in case he’d somehow missed it.

Anakin was far easier to please, and Nima took full advantage of that, foising him off on Jango again so she could catch some sleep. Anakin chatted up a storm, introduced him to some of his favorite toys, and seemed content just to be around Jango, a fact that was both puzzling and, perhaps, a little flattering. Not that Jango would ever admit that. Getting attached- or letting Anakin get attached to him- was a terrible idea, but the close quarters didn’t really allow for a lot of personal space.

When Shmi returned around dusk, Nima made a production out of leaving.

“Maybe you aren’t as awful as I thought,” she said, her lekku indicating otherwise, “but if you try anything, I swear by the Goddess I’ll cut your _ tal’kan _ off!”

She handed Anakin over to Shmi, kissed her cheek, and left.

“Don’t mind Nima,” Shmi said, jiggling Anakin. “She can be a little protective.”

Jango shrugged. The warm glow of the lanterns softened her features, erasing some of the haggardness of earlier, but one dark shadow had blossomed around her eye.

“They beat you?”

It was Shmi’s turn to shrug. “It could have been a lot worse, but they needed me whole to work in the kitchens.”

Jango clenched his fists, heat filling his chest. It was his fault she’d been beaten, and knowing it was likely to happen regardless of his presence only made matters worse.

“I’m sorry,” he said, gritting his teeth.

“Have you given any more thought to my offer?”

She was limping. Anakin’s face screwed up into a scowl as he voiced wordless complaints.

“I…” Jango swallowed. Why was this so difficult? All he had to do was tell her no. But when she turned to face him, eyes luminous in the lamplight, he found the word drying up in his throat.

“I’m still thinking about it,” he said, defeated.

She smiled at him. “You seem like a good man, Jango, even if you try to hide it. I know you’ll make the right decision.”

He watched as she moved to put Anakin in his crib, wishing he had her confidence.

Anakin was upset at being put down, and voiced his complaint. Shmi soothed him and tried to ply him with several toys, but it only seemed to make him angrier.

Jango cleared his throat. “Maybe, uh, try the tooka?”

Shmi gave him a long look before bending down to retrieve a tattered pink tooka from the floor. Anakin wailed again, then immediately calmed down. Jango felt his cheeks heat as Shmi looked at him again.

“He spent a lot of time playing with it, today,” he said, refusing to look at her.

“I see.”

She brushed past him and out of the room. He could hear the clatter of cookware and then the tantalizing smell of food. When it was ready she helped him out to the other room, looping his arm around her sturdy shoulders and placing her own around his waist. 

She smelled of grease and smoke and unidentified spices, but under it all was the faintest whiff of something sweeter. In the growing chill of evening, she radiated heat like a furnace, and he found himself leaning into her just a little, even as he tried to minimize the strain on her injured leg. It made the short walk to the main room a little lopsided, but as she helped him into a chair at the small table, her hair brushed his cheek and he was grateful that the awkwardness meant she couldn’t see his face.

Damn it. He was better than this. He hadn’t survived this long in the business by falling for everyone who showed him a bit of kindness, and he wasn’t about to start now.

“I managed to pocket some of the kitchen scraps,” she said, ladling a thick chowder into his bowl. “And Nima gave me some cactafruit jam, which goes well with flatbread.”

It was simple but delicious, and he made sure to tell her so when he was done.

“Never let it be said that I let a guest starve,” she said, the corner of her mouth twitching up.

“If you treat all your guests the way you’ve treated me, it’s a wonder any of them ever leave.”

The words were out before he could stop them. He saw her duck her head, averting her eyes, but that little smile was still there. He cursed himself for an idiot.

She helped him to the tiny water closet (not that there was much water involved), but thankfully, once there he was able to complete business on his own. Then it was back to the mattress, where he remained sitting up while she retrieved Anakin for a feeding.

“I won’t force you to take him if you refuse,” she said, rocking in her chair. “That would be unfair to both of you.” She reached up, wiping a tear from her eye. “I- I lied, earlier. You don’t need any additional doses for the venom, but it will probably take another day for you to recover your strength.” 

Anakin started to fuss, his face scrunching up as if he tasted something bad. She bent to kiss the top of his head. 

“You’re free to go. I’ll retrieve your armor in the morning before I leave.”

Instead of being angry at the deception, it only made him admire her more, which was… frustrating, under the circumstances. 

“I understand,” he said. “Thank you. For saving my life and for taking better care of me than I had any right to expect.”

When she looked at him again she seemed to have aged ten years. Lines and wrinkles stood out, and her eyes had gone dull despite the sheen of unshed tears. His fingers twitched with the need to reach out and brush the lines away, maybe bring back that smile.

“If we don’t have kindness, we’re no better than animals,” she said. It sounded like a quote. “I only hope you can- can understand why I did this.”

Jango shifted on the mattress. “I would never begrudge a parent for doing everything they could for their child.”

He wondered again why she didn’t want to go with him- with her _ son. _ Wanting what was best for Anakin was commendable, but in his opinion that included being raised by a mother as strong and defiant as Shmi.

“Trying, at least,” she said, covering up as Anakin finished his meal. “Trying and failing.”

“No.” With some effort, Jango managed to shift himself closer, reaching for her hand. “You’re not failing. Experiencing setbacks, maybe, but not failing.”

“Oh, Jango.” A ghost of her usual smile crossed her face as she reached out, stroking his cheek. “Your heart is showing again. I’m sure you’ll be a fine father yourself, someday. So kind and handsome, even if you do hide it all behind a helmet.”

Jango’s heart thudded. _ What was he doing? Why was he blushing? _ Her fingers trailed closer to his mouth and he froze. Until Anakin burped, distracting them both. He pushed his way back onto the mattress while Shmi returned to patting Anakin’s back.

Maybe it was good that he’d be able to leave the next day, before he got in even deeper than he already was. It was- unsettling, and he’d already caught himself trying to figure out ways that he could stay a bounty hunter and raise a child. Yes, definitely time to leave.

Which is what he kept telling himself through a restless evening and long into the night. Shmi slept close by, a soft shape under a mound of blankets. Unwelcome questions and scenarios crowded his brain, keeping him from sleep, so he was still awake when someone pounded on the door sometime after what had to be midnight.

“Shmi? Hurry!”

It sounded like Nima. Jango shoved himself upright, staggering to his feet; whatever was happening couldn’t be good.

Shmi brushed a hand against his arm as she passed him, rushing to answer the door just as Anakin woke up and started to cry.

Jango hobbled over to try and console him, but it made listening to the conversation between Shmi and Nima all but impossible. He picked out words, though, and none of them good: guards, village, killer. It seemed his time might be up even sooner than he’d thought.

A cool breeze gusted through the open- and vacant- doorway as he bent to pick up Anakin, rocking the screaming baby back and forth and murmuring reassurances to him that he didn’t really believe.

A clatter of metal returned his attention to the door, where Shmi was dragging a heavy burlap sack into the house.

“Hurry!” The sack rattled as she dropped it by his feet and took Anakin. “The guards! They’re searching for you! Someone must have told them there was a stranger in the village!”

Cursing, Jango opened the sack and began donning the armor inside. His legs were still a little wobbly and he fumbled a couple of pieces, but adrenaline was doing wonders for his recovery. He listened as Shmi gave him instructions on the safest way South, toward where he’d left his ship.

It felt wrong to just leave like this, and the chances of Shmi being caught and punished were unpleasant to consider. As he strapped on his belt his hand brushed against the oversized pouch he’d added for his latest bounty. He slowed, remembering that final encounter. It had been a rogue translator droid who’d made off with a considerable cache of Gardulla’s most private transactions locked in its mainframe. Jango had dealt with it by the simple expediency of using an ion grenade and then transporting the hulk back to the hutt.

He still had a few grenades left, too. 

“Come with me,” he said, before he could think better of it.

Shmi stopped rocking Anakin to stare at him. “What?”

“I want you to come with me, Shmi. You and Anakin, back to my ship.” He pulled out one of the grenades, raising his other hand in a calming gesture as she backed away.

“This is an ion grenade. It won’t cause a lot of damage to the surrounding homes, but it will knock out anything electronic in a three meter radius. Including your tracker.”

He could hear distant shouts, now, even as Anakin wailed harder. Shmi shook her head.

“No. Why would you say that? Just take Ani and go!” She thrust the baby towards him, head turned away. Anakin thrashed, letting his displeasure be known.

“Shmi.” He stepped closer, resting a hand on her shoulder even as Anakin was pressing against his breastplate. “Please, I mean it. Anakin needs his mother and- and I do, too.” He exhaled heavily, feeling as if a weight had been lifted, only for the tension to coil tight again.

Shmi looked up at him, her expression impossible to read. Guilt and shame coursed through him.

“Or- or I could drop you off somewhere safe. I’d never force-”

The rest of the sentence was lost as Shmi kissed him. It was brief and searing and left Jango rooted to the spot. Anakin, crushed between them, stopped crying and burbled confusion instead.

“Hold him,” Shmi said, thrusting him into Jango’s arms as he caught his breath.

Swaying on his feet, he watched as she rushed over to the wall and punched it. It tore like paper which, he realized, it was. She pulled a small carved box from a hidden recess in the wall, tossed it in the sack that had contained Jango’s armor, and then started adding clothes, blankets, and baby items. A well-made sling was looped over one shoulder, bolero-style. She was a miniature whirlwind of activity and he didn’t dare step into her path.

Anakin made a querulous noise, smacking Jango’s chin with a small fist.

“I don’t know, kid,” he said, shoving the grenade back in its pouch so he could wipe the tears and snot from the baby’s face with the edge of a blanket. “But at least we’re leaving. Right?” He added, glancing at Shmi.

“Yes,” she said, hauling the sack over her shoulder. Something inside went “clink.” Seeing his expression, she grinned. “I may be a slave, but I have managed to save _ some _ money. It should help to cover our expenses for a while.”

“That doesn’t-”

The shouts were close enough that he could make out the orders, now. And hear the blaster fire and pained shouts of the guards’ victims. He handed Anakin back to Shmi and pulled the grenade out again, thankful that he’d upgraded his equipment to be shielded against the pulse.

“Are you ready?”

Her face was pale, but she nodded, kissing Anakin and tucking him into the baby sling as he wound up for another tantrum. Taking a deep breath, himself, Jango primed the grenade and tossed it out the still-open front door, turning to shield Shmi.

There was a loud WHUMP. The explosion knocked the neighboring door off its hinges and sent Jango crashing into Shmi. She gasped, dropping the sack to clutch at her leg. Anakin screamed. Running feet were coming their way. 

“Are you alright?” He offered her a hand up.

“I will be.” Picking up the sack again she stood and held her hand out, palm flat.

Grinning, he gave her one of his blasters. “Trade you for it,” he said, taking the sack from her.

A hulking klatoonian appeared in the doorway. _ “Vota da wan-” _

Jango had his second blaster out and firing before the thug could finish.

He could hear Shmi swearing under her breath, and Anakin was beginning to get more vocal.

“Hurry! Let’s go!”

He had his blaster leveled and ready as he stepped over the body in the doorway and out into the street, but no other guards were visible, just frightened slaves.

“Shmi! What’s happening?” Nima was blocking the way, armed with a knife. “Is he trying to steal you?!”

“No! No, Nima, it’s fine.” Shmi rested a hand on Jango’s arm. “He _ asked _ me to go with him.”

Nima’s lekku twitched. “Both of you?”

“Both of them,” Jango confirmed. “But we won’t get far if we don’t leave, now!”

Nima made a handsign he didn’t recognize and Shmi signed back and then the twi’lek was grinning.

“Go,” she said. “We’ll cover for you. _ Ryma gesu’tuno ozanta yissa _.”

“And you as well,” Shmi said.

Anakin howled as they ran, Shmi taking the lead as she led them on a twisting path through narrow streets, over rooftops, and occasionally through the homes of other slaves. No one tried to stop them. Jango shot one more guard and Shmi shot one as well and then they had reached the edge of the village.

Shmi slowed to a stop, rubbing her leg as she eyed the expanse of dark desert ahead of them.

“This… this is as far as the tracker lets us go,” she said.

A little shadow of doubt crept into the back of his thoughts. What if he was wrong? What if the grenade hadn’t disabled the tracker? What if she’d changed her mind?

Before he could ask, she was striding ahead, blaster still clenched in one hand, but aimed down as she walked. Anakin, who had worn himself out with his tantrum, was reduced to the occasional angry squawk.

“You’ll be safe, I promise,” he said, hoping it was true as he paced beside them, resting one arm across her shoulders. His scanners showed no heat signatures nearby, other than a few small creatures.

“I know.” Shmi bumped her shoulder against his ribs. 

They kept walking. Nothing happened. No warning beeps, no explosions, and no more guards. Maybe Gardulla hadn’t taken the rumor too seriously, although she likely would, now.

The nightvision in his helmet kept them from stumbling too much and helped them avoid anything unpleasant in the desert. He homed in on his ship, relieved to see its familiar outline forming out of the dark.

“Did you mean it?”

The question came as they were nearing _ Jaster’s Legacy. _ He sent a command to wake up the ship and get it ready for a hasty departure.

“Mean what?”

Exterior lights clicked on, revealing two unmoving shapes near the keypad for the ramp. It seemed the slicing attempts had been thwarted.

“Do you really… need me?”

He stopped and turned to face her, dropping the sack of her belongings and removing his helmet.

“Shmi.” He reached out, brushing her cheek with a gloved hand. “I’ll be honest, I’m not sure _ what _ I need, anymore. But I do know that there’s room on my ship for you and Anakin, for however long you choose to stay.” He took a deep breath. “And, if you’re interested, I wouldn’t mind, ah, getting to know you a little better?”

Her smile was like the dawn. She caught his hand in hers, pressing her cheek into his fingers. “I’d like that.”

He kissed her, savoring it for a long moment before breaking away.

“I’d like that, too,” he said.

His display noted that two speeders were inbound, but they’d be well on their way before they could be a threat. Taking Shmi’s hand, he led her over to his ship, and whatever future awaited them.

**Author's Note:**

> _ik'aad:_ A mando'a word for a toddler under 3 years.  
_tal'kan:_ Ryl for- you guessed it- dick.  
_Vota de wan(ga):_ Huttese for "Here he is!"  
_Ryma gesu’tuno ozanta yissa:_ A Ryl phrase meaning "Mother give you good health."


End file.
